


detectives stilinski & hale and the case of ust

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6481264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Detective Stiles Stilinski,” Derek says through gritted teeth, glaring at Stiles the whole time, “Is the best detective I’ve ever know.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	detectives stilinski & hale and the case of ust

**Author's Note:**

> just a semi b99 inspired ficlet from tumblr

 

“Please,” Derek grinds out, his voice barely audible over the hub of the pen.

Stiles sits back in his chair smirking, sweeps his hands up behind his head and makes a considering noise.

“I’m not sure I believe how desperate you are. I mean, you need to really sell it to me here, Derek. Come on, make me _believe_.”

Derek’s eyes narrow and suddenly, Stiles feels very much like he’s waving a red cloak in front of an angry bull. _Or_ , pissing off his partner, who has—at Stiles’ last count— threatened to shoot him _eleven_ times. They’ve also had so many moments of sparked confrontation where Stiles was convinced they were going to fuck right up against the wall of the precinct that he actually gets excited when he sees Derek stalking up to him looking furious.

He has an actual _response boner_ to livid Derek. He’s lucky the tone in which Derek speaks to him, and the eyebrows Derek chooses to use with  _him_ , are different to those with which he addresses perps, or else, Stiles’d find himself in some difficult to explain situations.

“ _Please_ , I need your help.”

“Because?”

“Because you’re my partner,” Derek scowls—he’s obviously still a little sore that Finstock decided Derek was _lucky_ enough to be deemed worthy of being _Stiles'_ partner whilst Scott’s on paternity leave—and almost stamps his foot.

“And?” Stiles gives him an innocent look, “What does that—”

“It means it’s your job to follow up leads with me, not just on the cases  _you_ deem cool enough!”

“Hey! Someone’s gotta give this precinct a good name, dude. I mean, just look at you—” Stiles waves a hand over Derek’s outfit; the neatly pressed crisp, blue shirt, the darker blue tie with wild flowers on (Stiles knows they’re wild flowers because he mocked Derek about it in the break room earlier, and Derek pushed up his glasses, fixed him with a dangerous look and informed Stiles his six year old niece had bought it for him, and did Stiles have a problem with that? Stiles did not.); the dark pants that are still in perfect condition despite the fact they’ve had hot dogs for lunch. God, he looks fucking fantastic. He only has to throw on one of his leather jackets and Stiles will go a little weak at the knees.

Derek’s like some sort of magic mix of _could kill you with his eyes closed_ and _keeps baby animals in his pocket that he feeds and protects until they’re old enough to fend for themselves_.

It’s really not cool of Scott to have decided the year Derek joins their department is the year he and Allison patch things up long enough to have a baby; and abandon Stiles to Derek’s awesome, hot _everything_.

“You look like you should be working in the basement of a nerd squad computer hacking club,” he manages finally, after realizing there’s been silence for a good minute and a half whilst he was _staring_ at Derek’s… awesome, hot everything.

Derek arches an eyebrow, and Stiles feels his cheeks heat up.

“Awful, just awful,” he continues lamely, before shifting in his seat and clearing his throat.

“Cutting edge insults,” Derek says drily.

“Shut up, don’t you need a favor?”

“Stiles,” Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, “Come on, help me out, here. I’ve asked nicely.”

“You call kicking my chair and demanding I help you _nice?_ ”

Derek smirks, “You wanna see what happens when I _don’t_ ask nicely?”

Stiles… Stiles does. Very much. But, he can’t _say so_.

“No,” he manages after a moment, trying not to grin back at Derek. “I want to see you _beg_.”

“You—Stiles, for Christ’s sake, it’s just for a couple of nights recon work; it’s not like it’s going to kill you.”

“I have plans!”

“Getting into an internet spiral about whether or not the writers of _The Simpsons_ are actually in charge of what happens in the future does not count as _plans_ , dumbass.”

“Wow,” Stiles claps his hands to his chest, “You know, that sweet talk is exactly the kind of thing to make me _not_ want to help you, ever.”

He drops his hands, spins his chair around to face his desk, and tries not to laugh at the fact he can see Derek bodily rolling his eyes, crossing and uncrossing his arms and scowling at him in the reflection of his blank laptop screen.

“Okay,” Derek murmurs, “Fine, be childish.”

“Oh, I will—”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“You—”

Derek spins Stiles’ chair back to face him, rests his hands either side of Stiles’ arms and looms in his face.

Stiles is much less _intimidated_ than he is _turned on_ , and lifts his eyebrows at Derek in amusement.

“Gosh, is there gonna be sweet talk, now?”

“Stiles—”

“Come on,” he wiggles his eyebrows more, “Make my year.”

“I can’t believe my saying something nice to you would make your year.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Stiles breathes out, wishing Derek would close the distance between them completely.

Derek’s gaze drops to his mouth for a long moment before he sighs, drops his head instead of leaning in for the kiss like Stiles wanted. Contrary bastard.

“What do you want?”

“Say I’m the best detective ever.”

“That’s not a big—”

“To the squad, right now, to everyone, oh oh and tell them I’m dashing and a brilliant lover.”

Derek’s own eyebrows shoot up, “How would I even—”

“Just pretend you know,” Stiles hunches up a shoulder, gives him a wink that he hopes looks casual, “I _know_ you’ve thought about it; everyone in the office has.”

“You’re such an egotistical—”

“Ah ah ahhh, no sweet talk, no help…”

“Fine,” Derek clears his throat as he puts his hands on his hips, draws the attention of the pen to where he’s standing. “Listen up! Stiles Stilinski—”

“Detective!” Stiles interrupts.

The look Derek shoots him is _murderous_. Boyd looks bored; Erica hasn’t glanced up from her dead body close up shots; and Allison is cleaning her gun. Stiles marvels, briefly, at how proficient she is, and then remembers she spent most of her maternity leave working a desk job for firearms. Argents don’t really take time off.

“Get on with whatever this—” Erica waves a photograph between them, “Is. I’m looking at a dead body, and I’m bored.”

“Detective Stiles Stilinski,” Derek says through gritted teeth, glaring at Stiles the whole time, “Is the best detective I’ve ever know.”

“Better than you,” Stiles puts in.

“Even better,” Derek’s jaw clenches on each word, “Than me.”

“ _And_ —”

“And a brilliant lover. And, dashing,” Derek rolls his eyes heavenward, “So dashing.”

“Information I really didn’t need in my life,” Boyd calls from his desk.

“I didn’t know he’d ever even had sex,” Allison says with a smirk, and leans across to receive a fist bump from Derek.

She’s the only person he does it with, and it does not, Stiles repeats, _does not_ , make him jealous. It’s not like he needs that comradery in his life; it’s not like it would be a delightful novelty that Derek would humor him with such a small show of actual team work; it’s not like he needs his  _partner_ to like him.

He and Derek do just fine. Okay, sure, at first they didn’t really get along; but, that was because Derek’s a stickler for order, and Stiles… well, Stiles isn’t.

When they met Stiles had mustard on his untucked shirt and Derek stepped on Stiles’ foot as they shook hands, (Stiles would swear _to this day_ he did it on purpose to establish a hierarchy; Derek _wanted_ him to know he was better than Stiles in every way).

Stiles’ files are loaded with colorful sticky tabs that help him stay organized; Derek keeps his files in the drawers where they belong. For the first month of their desk sharing, Stiles’ files would stack up and overflow onto Derek’s desk, it drove him crazy. The tabs would stick to Derek’s arms, or pant legs, or, one memorable time, his eyebrow.

Derek ran squad meetings with efficiency and dignity; Stiles ran them with loud, raucous shouting and often music accompanying him from a boom box.

Derek only ever used the words _yes_ , _no_ , _absolutely not, Laura_ , and  _understood_ on the phone; Stiles liked to chat.

They drove each other crazy, and that was before they had to _work_ together. As _partners_. Stiles now has to deal with Derek’s insane driving (the guy looks like he’s all zen and chill, but get him stuck in a traffic jam and it’s like watching water boil over— it’s both terrifying and hilarious—especially when Derek catches Stiles filming him); Stiles has to let Derek take the lead on cases, sometimes, has to watch him frown down at forms; has to watch him push his glasses up in that _oh so sexy_ manner he has; roll up his shirt sleeves before going in to interrogate a perp; has to spend hours sitting in the car with him arguing about lunch meats or whether red pants are an acceptable work color.

Stiles won a bet which led to Derek having to wear red pants to work, once, and for the record, he looked stupendous.

But, it’s not like they’ve bonded over all those late night stake outs. It’s not like Stiles thinks about Derek all the time. It’s not like Derek’s the only one that ever remembers to add the sweetener first for Stiles’ coffee. It’s not a big deal Stiles thinks they fit together in a way he’s never experienced before (no offence to his best friend, but he doesn’t want to brush eyelashes off Scott’s face and tell him to make a wish in a soft voice he wasn’t even aware he had and Derek’s looking up at him with this gentle expression on his face and—he’s getting off the point!).

He doesn’t even _want_ to be fist bumping Derek!

“Oh, _ha ha._ Shouldn’t you be shocked and awed at the fact I got Derek to admit I’m a better detective than him?” Stiles stands, waves his hands in the air, “Where’s the shock and awe, people?!”

“I gave birth,” Allison states drily, “And, you want this to be a moment of amazement?”

“Well, no, not exactly—”

Erica tilts her head to one side from across the room, “You two are banging? Huh. It took you long enough.”

Derek makes a strange, strangled noise and backs up into Stiles, knocking him back into his chair.

“No,” Stiles groans, feels his ears burning, “That’s not the point, god—you guys are _no_ fun.”

Everyone returns to work as if absolutely nothing has happened.

It’s almost like they don’t believe Derek was being sincere.

“I did what you asked,” Derek turns and gives him a bright, shit eating grin, “Now, help me.”

“That’s true, and I would, Derek, I _really_ would, but I’m off the clock,” Stiles pulls a face. “Too bad Finstock’s banned me from doing anymore overtime this month.”

He smooths down his own tie (a cheap red one he had to _go out and buy_ when Derek turned up for his first day at the precinct with one and Finstock went nuts for it and forced Stiles into wearing one, too; stupid Derek and his wardrobe choices reflecting his earnest and hard-working personality. It is so _not_ a turn on that Derek takes his job seriously) and sighs dramatically.

“Must be tough for him, having to bench his top detective, but when my hard work is starting to show up other people’s weaknesses…”

“You only bank more overtime than anyone else because you don’t have a damn social life,” Derek snaps.

“Ha! Lies! I have a date tomorrow! Besides,” Stiles sniffs, “ _You_ only know how much overtime I do because you’re right there with me, Mr _I only see the outside when I’m working or my sister is dragging me to lunch_.”

Derek gives him a sour look, “I like my job.”

“Yeah, same, but I also enjoy time to consider just _what_ I’m gonna wear tomorrow night and wow a second date out of Lydia’s friend Leila.”

“You—” Derek goes still, “Leila? You’re going out with _Leila_ , from _major crimes?_ ”

He might as well be calling her some foul curse word with all the disdain he puts into the words _major crimes_. Stiles’ insides do a little dance of delight. He’s pretty sure Leila’s hung up on her ex and just wants a distraction; Stiles is more than happy to play ball and incite a little jealousy from Derek.

He’s forever poking at the hornet’s nest that is their refusal to admit they have _any_ sort of feelings for one another. It’s been over a year of working in the same precinct; a year of Derek being a self-righteous, arrogant, diligent, meticulous, enigmatic, irritating, _incredible_ detective that shares Stiles’ desk. He brings in his own packed lunches. He falls asleep at weird angles all over the pen and sometimes Stiles shoves a cushion under his head just to save _himself_ the pain of watching Derek sleep. It has nothing to do with wanting to get close to the _actual angel_ that is Derek Hale when he sleeps. Ironic, considering when awake Derek’s an asshole, could outrun any criminal, scare the shit out of any perp he’s interrogating and constantly steals Stile’s sodas but refuses to buy his own claiming them to be _unhealthy_.  They’ve spent twelve months needling one another; trying to outdo each other with their amount of solved case numbers; who bags the most awesome collars; who can be at work earlier— though, this one was an unspoken thing that started when Stiles  _accidentally_ appeared pained about Derek going on a date with some woman from the morgue unit— and Derek was at their desk the next morning _before_ Stiles came in. He’d even made a point of saying he had gone to bed early, alone and that he’d had an interesting _meeting_ with Sandy. Stiles had sniffed and pretended not to care, whilst internally gloating and wishing he hadn’t eaten quite so much ice cream the night before.

They’re not exactly subtle about it. They might even be kind of… _pathetic_ in their attempts to prove that they’re not interested in anyone else, but that they’re not into one another, either.

Neither of them will make a move. It’s a painful, sexually charged Catch 22. Derek’s obsessed with going by the book, likes rules, thinks Stiles would be too sexy a distraction in the office (at least, this is what _Stiles_ has decided Derek’s thinking on the matter is). And, Stiles is all too aware of the awkwardness in-office dating can bring. Scott and Allison used to break up at least once a month, and every time they did, Stiles and Scott get the worst cases handed down through Finstock from Chris Argent at the top.

It’s just difficult when he _wants_. He knows he and Derek would be good together. Even when they’re fighting they’re a good team; he enjoys the banter; he likes insulting Derek and hearing the counter comments Derek comes up with; he loves—

“Yes,” he says in a strangled sounding voice, blinking at Derek who’s staring at him wordlessly. “Is there a, uh, problem with my dating Leila?”

“She’s a cop.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, you said you’d never date a cop. I was right there,” Derek points to Scott’s desk. “McCall was complaining about Allison burning that bouquet he sent her down in the parking lot and you said, _I heard you say_ you’d never date a cop.”

“Well, I mean… she’s in intelligence! It’s different. Sure, we work in the same field, but that means she’d totally understand the late nights, my dedication to the job; we’d be on the same wave length about it. Plus, you know, she seems sweet, and kind, and she laughed at my joke about that cat and the milk duds…” Stiles trails off feeling suddenly, stupidly, lame.

“So, just not detectives,” Derek wraps up for him flatly.

“Right! You know, because of the whole… inter office awkwardness and how much unrequited love can suck, when you’re working closely with someone, that you work with. That’s… that’s okay, right? I can change the day, though, you know… I can help!”  

There’s a beat, and then Derek straightens up, shrugs casually—in a way that so _totally_ doesn’t hurt Stiles’ stupid feelings—and turns away.

“Nope, you go on your date, thanks for having me bend over backwards for you and then giving me shit,” he twists to give Stiles a sardonic thumbs up, “You’re the best partner, _detective_.”

“Oh, come on, that’s mean!” Stiles yells after him, “Walking away before I can make a joke about you bending over backwards? Derek! Are you still there?”

Erica gives him a judgemental look from over her photographs of a toe.

*

Derek isn’t at his desk the next morning, and there’s a terse note stuck to Stiles’ that says **OUT**.

Stiles sighs, flops down in his chair, “Did anyone see Derek, earlier?”

“Yeah,” Allison pulls the pen from between her teeth, points it at Stiles, “He’s pissed at you.”

“He’s always pissed at me, what’s new?”

“Uh, the fact you paraded around the news of your date with Leila in front of him when you must know he has the world’s biggest crush on you,” Allison jabs the pen towards him. “The only reason I haven’t threatened your life over it is because you’re my child’s godfather.”

“I—” Stiles blinks at her incredulously, “What.”

“I thought having dad assign you two as partners would help, but it seems to have only _increased_ the sexual tension and actually made things worse.” Allison clucks her tongue, “Scott wants to come back to work, Stiles!”

“You guys… set us up?”

Allison gives him an unimpressed look, “I thought you were the best detective in the world.”

“I didn’t—why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I had a _child_ ,” Allison shrugs, “I was busy. What’s your excuse for not telling Derek how you feel?”

Stiles gawps at her, “Inter-office dating always ends badly… you and Scott—”

“Scott and I have been serious for over a year,” Allison gives him a cross look, “Besides, I wasn’t sure if Scott and I would work because I was  _personally_ not sure if this,” she gestures around the room, “Was what I wanted. I didn’t know if I was ready to settle down here, in New York. It wasn’t because I didn’t love Scott enough. You _like_ New York, Derek likes _you_ ,” she taps her pen against her teeth, “You guys have a way better shot at making it work first time, not tenth.”

“Derek doesn’t—”

“Yes,” Allison holds up her hand, “Not in high school any more, he does, he only wears fun ties because _you_ will then notice them and he hasn’t ever made my coffee right, so as soon as you see him _tell him how you feel_. He thinks you’re going to run off with Leila from intelligence.”

“It’s just one date!”

Allison fixes him with another wordless—extremely Derek like—look.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promises weakly, reaching across to Derek’s desk and examining the case file Derek was working on. “I wish these guys still called themselves pirates instead of smugglers,” he complains out loud to no one.

Nobody opposite him scoffs and explains the differences between diamond smugglers in the NYC area, versus actual pirates, and nobody tells him to take his feet off the desk. Nobody makes him coffee at eleven, and nobody tries not to laugh when Stiles mimics Finstock shouting at Greenberg in his office (Derek gets this cute little twitch around the corners of his mouth when he’s pretending Stiles isn’t funny, but who is he kidding because Stiles is _hilarious_ ). Nobody reminds him to put on a jacket before he goes out to check on a lead in the afternoon. Nobody humors him, all day.

Derek doesn’t check in with him all day, either. Not even with his usual, cursory I’M FINE text, that he often sends to let Stiles know he’s losing his patience with Stiles pestering him about “getting home safely” after shift.

He’s staring down at Derek’s contact info, wistfully running his thumb over Derek’s name and picture (one of Derek in those glorious red pants), when someone clears their throat at his desk.

Stiles jumps, drops his phone with a clatter as he looks up, “Leila! Hi!”

“I finished early, so,” Leila beams at him, “I thought if you were ready we could grab a drink, avoid the pre-date jitters?”

She’s so smart, Stiles thinks momentarily, like Derek smart. Derek would totally think of easing nerves with a drink first. Or, maybe he’d just plough on in there nervous as hell and snap at Stiles that he wasn’t nervous until they were arguing like normal and—

“I can’t,” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

Leila slows from checking her make up in her compact, “Okay, so you just wanna meet at the restaurant, or—”

“No, I mean I can’t go,” Stiles confesses bleakly.

“Oh, new case?” she waves at the files in front of him, “Something good?”

“It’s not mine, it’s my partner’s but,” Stiles swallows, shrugs, “I’m just recently coming to the very scary terms that I’m probably crazy in love with him, so… I think if we went out I would be constantly… comparing everything to him, and that’s not fair to you. You’re, you’re really great.”

Leila holds up a hand, “It’s Hale, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Say no more,” she nods briefly, puts her compact away, “I was kinda surprised when you agreed to go out with me, actually. You two always seemed…”

“How did we?!” Stiles exclaims, “All we do is fight!”

Leila shrugs, “I don’t know you that well, but you do tend to…. Fight with everyone? I guess I figured you were into each other because he always… seemed to like it?” She scrunches up her nose, “Sorry, I’m not really one for helping other people sort out their sex lives; I want my own. I’m gonna go.”

“I’m really sorry,” Stiles stands as she turns to leave, “Really, if I wasn’t into him…”

“Sure,” she shoots him a smile over her shoulder.

“Seriously, he’s really annoying like that… gets under your skin. Has to be right, always there,” Stiles frowns, forgetting the awkwardness as Leila disappears around the corner and his mind flies straight back to Derek.

“You’re always around, dude, even when you’re not,” Stiles skims over the file again, glances at Derek’s empty desk, “Why aren’t you…”

He gets his phone out and texts Derek again, I KNOW URE PISSED BUT CAN U AT LEAST LET ME KNOW U HAVEN’T BEEN KIDNAPPED BY PIRATES???

“Hey,” he tips back on his chair to where Boyd’s busy examining audio track transcripts.

“What, Stilinski.”

“Dude, have you heard from Derek, at all, today?”

“I’m not getting involved in your Taylor Swift love story, man.”

“Flattered, that you would compare us to such a modern day romantic fairy tale, but, I’m serious,” Stiles narrows his eyes at him, “Just, nod if you have, okay? I’m starting to freak out, and I don’t know if…”

Boyd pauses from writing, shakes his head, “You haven’t, either?”

“Not even one of his oblig ‘I’m fine, leave me alone’ texts that he likes to send me.”

“You _are_ annoying.”

“And, you’re a real asshole, but, help, please?”

Boyd gives him a _look_ , “The way you were so willing to with Hale, yesterday?”

“Low blow,” Stiles murmurs, “But, yeah, okay, I was a dick, and, now I’m scared he’s in a ditch somewhere.”

“He’s probably holed up at home, sulking and getting more work done than he would with you distracting him, here.”

“Hey!”

Boyd almost smiles, “He seems to like it.” His face goes serious, “Lemme check in at home, see if Erica’s heard anything.”

Stiles does a double take, “You and Reyes?”

“Yeah,” Boyd scoffs, “For like five years.” He flashes Stiles a grin as he pulls his phone out, “Some of us know how to admit to feelings, rather than spending all of our time pulling pigtails, or,” he grimaces, “In your case, sharing sodas and mocking ties.”

“Alright, I get it, we’re losers.”

“Glad we’re clear on that, hey, babe, how you doin’? Yeah?,” Boyd leans into the phone, “Save that for later, trust me, I wanna see that. Look, you haven’t heard from Hale today, have you?” There’s a moment whilst Stiles strains to hear what Erica’s saying; though it’s clear she’s bitching about Stiles because Boyd gives him another _look_.

“Did everyone in the entire building know before me?!”

“We’re all better detectives than you,” Boyd says easily, before standing and grabbing his jacket. “Okay, thanks, baby, yeah, I’ll keep you posted.”

Stiles eagerly stands with him, “Does she know where he is?”

“Nope.”

“Then where are you going? Dude! Derek could be missing!” Stiles yanks on his jacket, “You can’t—”

“Stiles, relax! I’m gonna go get Finstock,” Boyd rolls his eyes, “You are such a drama queen.”

“Hey, I’m not—you’re the— takes one to know one!” Stiles calls after him as he walks away. “Face! Yeah! You heard me.”

He sits back down heavily, looks at all of Derek’s notes.

“Okay,” he announces to himself, “Where would you go?”

Derek’s comments and suggestions are meticulous, one idea leading to another. Finstock makes a noise of approval as he reads over Stiles’ shoulder.

“I wish he’d transferred years ago,” he sighs. “I like him more than you,” he tells Stiles.

“That’s a blatant lie, boss.”

“Be that as it may, his notes are better than yours, look,” Finstock taps down at an address Derek has decoded from an Axe can, a receipt for a blanket and two napkins.

“You know what this means?” Boyd points to a string of letters Derek has written above the address.

Stiles snorts, “Yeah, it says Stiles get your own cases.”

Both Boyd and Finstock turn to stare at him judgementally.

“What?! I didn’t write it!”

“He may as well have written he bloody loved you,” Finstock huffs, snapping up the files and calling someone on his cell at the same time. “Janice! Wake up Argent and tell him he’ll want in on this bust. I know he’s sleeping I walked past the office ten minutes ago! Well poke him with a broom!”

*

Finstock goes with SWAT inside the building where the smugglers are hiding out, Stiles and Boyd take the perimeter. They split up, and Stiles feels a pang of longing for his best friend, who would always knock their helmets together and tell Stiles to be safe. As soon as they find Derek, Stiles is taking him to go see Scott and the baby. He’s not sure if Derek really does feel the same as him, or if maybe they’ll crash and burn in week, or even if he’s not maybe just a little bit terrified of what will happen if they do get together, but, he knows they’ll stay on the same team. Going to see a baby is soothing and it’ll keep them from fighting too much and—

He stops jogging when he spots a familiar tie sticking out of a dumpster at the far end of the parking lot.

“Boyd,” he says into his headset, “I think I got something.”

“Copy that, coming around.”

“Derek,” he breathes, racing across the concrete and throwing open the lid. “Derek?!”

Derek squints up at him, face bloodied, clothes torn and dirty and his hands bound.

“Derek!” Stiles clambers into the dumpster and rips off the tape across Derek’s mouth. “Oh my god, dude,” he cradles Derek’s face as he examines him, “You okay? Anything broken?”

“No, Stiles,” Derek coughs, tries to sit up, “It’s okay. They just saw me canvasing; I spooked them; they didn’t know I was a cop.”

“I was so scared, Derek, fuck! Don’t fucking go off by yourself like that again!” Stiles almost punches Derek’s shoulder, and then stops at the last second, curling his fingers in Derek’s shirt, instead. “ _God_.”

“Sorry,” Derek murmurs.

Stiles does a double take, “Holy shit, they must have banged you about good for you to be getting’ apologetic on me.”

Derek scowls and then winces, touches his jaw between where Stiles’ fingers are still resting. “How did you—”

“Saw your tie,” Stiles beams at him in the dim lighting, “I never realized how useful those things are; probably saved your life.”

Derek almost laughs, “I thought if anyone came looking…”

“Are you kidding,” Stiles strokes his thumb over Derek’s cheek, “Dude, of course I was gonna come looking for you! I’d always—”

“I thought you had a date,” Derek cuts in, tries and quite obviously fails to look unbothered by it. Stiles’ heart _melts_.

“I couldn’t go, I had uh,” he clears his throat, avoids looking at Derek for a second, “I had a thing, you know, you. You’re my partner and I… you come first, apparently in everything, for me, so,” he wets his lips, chances a glance at Derek, “She wasn’t you, you know? and… besides,” he tries to rally, “I _am_ the best detective in the world, so I knew something was up and I _had_ to come—”

Derek pushes forward on his elbows and kisses him.

Stiles feels his heart flip and he slides one hand around Derek’s head, kisses him back. It’s sort of awkward with them sitting in trash; there’s a terrible smell in the air; and Derek’s lip is cut so they can’t kiss for long, but when Stiles pulls back Derek is smiling.

“So much for inter office dating, huh.”

“I’ve reconsidered,” Stiles nods, starts playing with the hair at the nape of Derek’s neck, “I think to keep you safe, you should spend all of your time with _me_ , the best detective in the world, and that would mean coming home with me, and cooking with me and sleeping with me…”

Derek makes a thoughtful noise, “Could work out okay.”

“As long as we don’t get sick of each other,” Stiles bites his lip nervously. “Because, we do fight, a lot.”

“Sure,” Derek nods seriously, then lifts his head, smiles softly at Stiles, “But, I like fighting with you more than I like being nice to anyone else.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Stiles breathes out, “Me too!”

He leans in and kisses Derek again, as gently as he can, and Derek hums like he’s pleased by Stiles’ decision. Stiles grins against his lips.

“Hey,” he leans back, “How badly injured are you, like, are we gonna be able to fool around asap? Because, I really wanna do that, with you. Like, I have been picturing you naked for a year, that’s twelve months of fantasies—”

Derek groans, “We’re in a dumpster, Stiles.”

“Right, not exactly a mood setter,” Stiles gives him a bashful smile, “Sorry, I’m just excited, you know, it’s you and—”

“Just save it, for like, two hours,” Derek brushes their noses together, kisses him sweetly. “We’ll have paperwork to fill out, first.”

“Mmmm, dirty talk,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, “I had no idea you had it in you. And, speaking of things you should have in you—”

There’s a thud on the side of the dumpster, and they both start.

“Gah!” Stiles goes for his gun.

“It’s me, Stilinski,” Boyd growls, “Thanks for notifying us all that Hale’s alive.”

“I was just on it—”

“I don’t… even… want to know,” Boyd grinds out, “Just get out, there’s a medic here for Derek.”

“Is that them?” Finstock’s voice booms across the parking lot, “Tell Hale he’s got a lot of explaining to do going in by himself.”

“That’s my fault,” Stiles confesses into his mic.

“Stilinski? How is it—”

“I wouldn’t give him my help; I made him do it alone,” Stiles turns and gives Derek his cheesiest, most roguish smile, “Never again, Captain.”

Derek sighs up at the roof of the dumpster, “I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

“ _I know!_ Isn’t it great?” Stiles tries to stand, hits his head as he pushes the roof up and then offers Derek his hand, “I love you, too, by the way, in case that wasn’t clear.”

Derek smiles, bright and happy, even with the backdrop of banana peels and old tires, “I know, but that’s because I’m a _good_ detective.”

Stiles beams back at him, can’t even bring himself to argue it, just for once.


End file.
